REMEMBERING AND WAITING
November is a month for reflection, remembrance and responsibility, the latter being our duty to exercise our precious right to vote. The most consequential election eve of my life was not 2016 (although that result was stunning and disappointing), but 45 years ago in 1973.
November 5
It was November cold and the night was winter black. In the end, or rather at the end, we were all there. Mother, of course, and EB, plus S. and D. who lived nearby. A. had been gently persuaded not to return to Oberlin just yet. Greg and I, from the furthest away, made the seemingly endless drive from Clifton Park to the hospital in Rochester. On the way, snow flurries wet the windshield. It must have been near eleven when we arrived.
Dad was Dad and not. His labored breathing, with a hitch like a bone stuck somewhere deep—death rattle they call it—and his distended abdomen were not. Semi-awake, the light in his eyes and the slight smile were him. He was lucid and called us all by name.
“Jean, I have your book—haven’t finished it—the Bruce Catton one.”
“That’s okay,” I said. (When Morning Comes, ah, the irony of that title.)
We all left his room and huddled down the hall in the lounge; blessedly we had it to ourselves. Tom D, childhood friend and now a young resident, was around, providing comfort and warmth and himself gearing up to lose his first patient, a longtime family friend. We mostly sat and conversed about not much, focused separately on our about-to-be grief and the impending loss. So young were we that we selfishly thought primarily of ourselves and not our mother, who was about to lose her life’s companion, her anchor, and her love.
Tom brought in a McDonald’s supper—more something to occupy us than true nourishment. And we waited and waited, for what we now knew would be the inevitable conclusion. There were going to be no miracles, no second chances.
CODA: November 6 (Election Day)
My marvelously nurturing father died in the wee hours of the morning. None of us made it to the polls. Dad, always a responsible citizen, had already voted absentee by mail.
Note: Header photo, Night Sky, is from www.lifeinthefingerlakes.com
Jean, beautiful post. Thank you for sharing. I will think of your father when I vote tomorrow. Kate Novack
Thank you, Kate, much appreciated.
Jean-This is thoughtful and well written.
I was not yet old enough to vote, and had forgotten that Dad had thought ahead to vote.
Let’s vote for change, and the start of a more unified nation.
EB
Oh, favorite brother, your comments mean a lot since you were there, and yes, we need change.
Beautifully written Jean. 💔
Ron and I have enjoyed reliving our experiences at the Tierra Atacama, room 3. This posting about your father brought tears to my eyes. Ron is still watching the election results in doubt. We had hoped for better. I particularly was inspired by the close races and happy about voter turnout.
Sharon